


all these people understand

by elvish



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Rating May Change, artistic license to the upteenth degree like what even is the canon timeline, just accept it please, to explicit because as of right now it's mature b/c of cursing and general Wade W. Wilson Discourse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:36:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6432139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvish/pseuds/elvish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade Wilson isn't one for remorse. Especially remorse regarding asshole gas station attendants.</p><p>(The one in which Wade takes the role of the robber (merc) who killed Uncle Ben.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the gun in their face or the cash in their hand

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to Abbie for planting this idea in my brain after our 3-day-long Marvel marathon. heeeeey shameless self-promotion, check me out on tumblr at wadewilsonry! title is a reference to All the Stars in Texas by Ludo.

Wade Wilson isn’t one for remorse. Especially remorse regarding asshole gas station attendants.

He fidgets with a string on his oversized hoodie, hood pulled firmly over his head. This is his first job as a merc, and he really shouldn’t fuck this up. He doesn’t really know why someone would want a low-life minimum-wage worker to get offed, but he can kinda guess, judging by how damn rude he is. It’s only two fuckin’ pennies dude, chocolate milk, seriously, calm down.

The guy in front of him argues pointlessly with the attendant, probably on-edge before he even walked up to the counter. If anything, this worker is just riling him up more. _Nice hair_ , Wade thinks. Probably mussed up from frustrated fingers tugging at it. He huffs, finally giving up his uphill battle, and storms past Wade. _Nice face_ , _too_ , he adds as an afterthought. This gig’s gonna be worth it, if only for the satisfaction of killing a dick for making a pretty boy upset.

Wade moves up in line, placing a Butterfingers on the counter beside the kid’s forgotten milk. “Gimme a pack of Pall Malls,” he gestures vaguely behind the counter, making like he’s pulling out his wallet. His hand slides easily over the 9mm at his side when the attendant turns, and Wade ends his life quickly, with a shot squarely on the back of the man’s skull. Wade doesn’t even flinch. He stuffs the gun back into its holster. He digs into his pocket, leaving five dollars and whatever change he could scrounge up on the counter. “Dumbass, don’t you know smoking kills?” he shakes his head, tears open the candy bar and stuffs it into his mouth. He finds the boy from before, looking downright distraught, and tosses the milk at him, which he fumbles. He doesn’t make a move against Wade, surprisingly. He doesn’t even say anything, choosing to stare at the drink in his hands instead.

Everything is going so smoothly. Heaving a sigh, Wade turns to leave, humming a contented tune around the candy.

And then an older man walks in, one who looks like he’d emphatically tell his grandkids stories about the good old days or have a laugh that could brighten up the worst day ever. And this older man, appearing lost, his gaze freezes on the blood splattered upon the cigarette display.  
This older man, eyes wide, sees the gun holstered at his hip and scrambles to pull out his cell phone. “Hey, no, don’t—“ Wade puts his hands out in complacency, but the man is already bringing the phone to his ear and Wade’s pulling out his gun again and there’s a yell coming from somewhere in the store and there’s more blood in the store now, much more blood than he ever intended. The boy runs toward the man’s limp body, looking absolutely horrified, and Wade takes this as his cue to get the hell out of Dodge. A tense moment passes, enough for Wade to fully grasp what just happened, to shake himself out of a daze, and he takes off out the door, leaving a screaming, grieving voice carrying behind him.

For a first job, it could’ve gone better. But now he was ten thousand bucks richer, and could actually pay the rent for this month.

* * *

   
Five years later, Wade is much, much richer and much more scarred, both mentally and physically. He also has no hesitation when murdering, and a huge arsenal full of bombs, guns, and miscellaneous blades. He also has another name now, Deadpool, and a kickass (he says so, anyway) spandex costume. Along with all these fine additions, he has enough emotional baggage for a lifetime. Which, as it’s looking right now, is a very long time, by Wade’s standards.

  
Right now, Wade is bleeding profusely from his side because apparently you shouldn’t underestimate old ladies with high bounties over their heads. Right now, Wade is sighing dramatically because the Avengers have decided to send someone to reprimand and/or take him in, again. This is a common occurrence, anymore. Can’t he just do his thing and they do theirs? People want other people un-alived, and he’s willing to do the un-aliveing, as long as the money’s good. It’s not the worst deal ever, even if the whole exchange makes the big guys think he’s just as bad as Loki or some other overdone villain.

This is a new one, though. Judging from the webby get-up, Wade could gather that this is the Spiderman everyone and their mother talks about.

{ _The **spider on his chest** could also be a dead giveaway_.}

So here’s Wade, clutching a gaping hole in his abdomen, and here’s Spiderman, eyes drawn tight, like the arms folded across his chest. It’s a very nice chest. He looks so condescending for such a lean man, borderline pissed.

[ _Seriously though, how are our eyes so **expressive**? CGI is crazy_.]

“Oh, hey! Come here often?” Wade quips, leaning seductively on a nearby wall for effect and also maybe because ow, his ribs could try to heal a little faster, dammit.  
“Deadpool, I presume? You’re the only person within a ten-mile radius wearing a red-and-black suit who’s killed a defenseless old woman for no reason. Correct me if I’m wrong, though.”

“Defenseless," Wade repeats. "Are you shitting me? Do you see this? Damn, I’d hate for you to meet Al. Listen, I’m not in my best state right now, so maybe if you could just go back where you came from, save this for another day, I’d love to chat but I have a pretty little check waiting for me, that’s reason enough—“

Spiderman shoots a web, locking Wade’s hand in place on the wall, leading Wade to sigh again, longer and even more drawn out this time.

[ _Coulda seen **that** coming_.]

“Shut up.”

  
For a first meeting, it could’ve gone better. Now Wade is out of twenty grand and has to put up with the self-righteous Avengers Assholes for the indiscernible future.

* * *

 

A few months later, Wade has a mega-crush on this spider dude who tolerates him a surprising amount, second only to Nate. This spider dude, who instead of roping him back to Avengers headquarters like he’s supposed to, only gives Wade a disappointed look, reprimands him a little, but gives in when Wade suggests Mexican, on him. It's almost as if the guy actually expects more out of him, like he's more than a mentally unstable, neurotic psychopath. This is certainly not a predisposition Wade is used to.

{ _That's not to say all that psycho stuff isn't true_.}

[ _The big guy's not the most right-minded person on the block_.]

{ _Insane in the brain_!}

[ _Ooh_.  ** _Good song_**.]

So there they sit, on the roof of an apartment somewhere in Manhattan, eating the "best damn Mexican food in NYC, Spidey, seriously, it's like an orgasm in every delicious fuckin' bite." Spiderman doesn't say a word about the damaged skin showing when Wade pulls up his mask a little bit so he can eat. For a second, he thinks that maybe it's dark enough outside that he can't see, but then thinks better of it. There's no way he can miss such a fucking butterface. Plus, spidey-senses or whatever. They talk about everything from which consoles are better (Wade is set on the Xbox, Spidey is absolute PC Master Race trash), to which Golden Girl was the best (this is mostly Wade, as Spidey is an "uncultured pig" who only caught the show when his aunt had it on when he was growing up). 

Wade finishes his taco(s) in record time and unceremoniously wipes his mouth on a sleeve. Reaching for a napkin, he catches Spiderman looking directly at his scarred flesh. Normally, Wade wouldn't be bothered, but something makes him tug the red mask down hastily, and he avoids eye contact { _Mask contact_?} with the other man. He braces himself for the inevitable onslaught of questions, but all he gets is "does it hurt, Wade?"

Wade raises his non-existent eyebrows, turning to face Spidey. He looks surprised himself, like the question slipped out of his mouth unwarranted. "Uh, not really, no. I mean, it hurt like hell when it first happened, of course, but it's just scars now. Scar tissue." Spiderman just nods, like he feels bad for even asking. Wade tries to remember the last time someone asked about his scars in a way that  _wasn't_ dickish, and draws a blank.

"Y'know, I don't think I've ever told anyone how this shit happened. The scars and immortality and whatever."

"Oh, yeah?"

And so Wade tells the webhead, in excruciating detail, how he came to be Deadpool, how he met Al, about Death and Domino and Cable and what a _hu_ ge _jack_ ass Wolverine was. And after an hour of this, of Spiderman just nodding and the occasional small glimpse of a smile underneath his mask, Wade plops his head upon his fist.

Drawing in his first substantial breath for the entire duration of his spiel, "I'm telling you my goddamn life story and I don't even know your first name. You know mine. Not fair."

"Not a lot of people do. I have family to protect."

"I can't keep calling you Spidey all the time."

{ _Well, you **could** , but that would be severely limiting the narrative_.}

[ _Also limiting the author. Referring to him only as Spiderman is weird_.]

Shaking off the boxes, Wade adds, "I'm not gonna expose you or anything. I don't really give a shit, like, if you don't wanna tell me, or if you don't trust me, it's ok, I wouldn't trust me either, I'm a shady motherfu—“

And in the post-midnight moonlight, Spiderman lets out a pained sigh, if only to shut Deadpool up, and dusts off the untold story of how Peter Parker became the Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos save lives! and also increase the possibility of updates!


	2. they call it lonely digging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title taken from "lone digger" by caravan palace

Wade sits still, listening only to Spiderman's slightly muffled lilt and the neon lit, eternally bustling city below. This is the quietest he's been in recent memory. He hangs onto every word spilling from the other man, doesn't prompt him when words fail or when he finds them difficult to say. The silences aren't awkward. He doesn't actually feel the need to fill them - thinks it might be really rude to - not that he's ever cared much about being rude. But this is different. The guy sounds devastatingly honest, like he could get lost in memories at any given second. So Wade gives him space, lets him forget who he's talking to, watches the streets below.

His name is Peter, and he's only a few years younger than Wade. He was bullied in high school. He was apparently a total science nerd, which does not surprise Wade in the slightest. He got his abilities in some sort of freak accident on a field trip his junior year, which he could relate to - his very own tragic backstory, Weapon X! - but this wasn't the time for his sob story. He lost his parents when he was very young, and lived with his aunt and uncle for as long as he could remember. They were very sweet, nurturing. He loved them. _They basically made me into who I am today_ , Peter sums up modestly, rubbing the back of his neck. His posture falls a bit, and he sits forward, resting his head on his palms. _But um_ , _Uncle Ben_ , _he_ , there's a lull,  _we had this stupid fight. I can barely even remember what it was about. I stormed out out the house. There was this hold-up, shooting at the store I went to... my uncle, I guess he was looking for me. He saw the guy shoot the gas station attendant. He was... he wasn't the type to not do anything so he_

By this point, Wade is completely frozen in place, staring hot-faced, wide-eyed at his hands. Peter's voice fades, drowned out by the blood rushing in Wade's head.

{ _Of all the fucked up things you've done_ , _this has got to be at the top_.}

[ _You **are** a fuck-up_.]

"Uh, sorry if this is boring you, Wade. It's a shitty story. I can stop," Peter says, louder than the voice he was using to tell his story. He shakes Wade back into reality, and Wade shakes his head ardently, waving his hand.

"Nah, no, Webs - do I keep calling you that? I guess it's bad to get in the habit of calling you by your first name, secret and all, anyway, it's not boring, it is _incredibly_ shitty, God, it's just. It reminds me. Of something that happened to me a long time ago and it put me in a bad place, is all." Peter nods, understanding, apologizing with a small _sorry_ even though the story he just told could probably bring the hardest of mob bosses to tears, and it's Wade, if _anyone_ , who should be apologizing. He turns his gaze back to the streets. The silence that falls between them is short lived, only tense for a moment. This is because Peter leans forward a bit, and Wade has a moment of worry that he might be tilting a bit too far (he has webs, yeah, but he can't fly, and Wade cannot do either of these things), but he remembers the sticky extremities. And realizes he's only squinting, trying to see something better, and Wade follows his gaze. Way below them, he sees a woman being cornered by two bulky figures. She's distraught, voice elevated, looking all around her, searching for a way out. Before Wade can even open his mouth, Peter is grappling down the apartment complex. "I'll just take the stairs," he calls after him, swinging onto the fire escape.

When he reaches the street, he sees that the sketchy duo has pretty much been apprehended. A lanky man with tawny, unkempt hair and glasses is struggling against the webbing Spiderman shot at his hands and ankles, writhing on the sidewalk. His accomplice, however, a woman with black hair falling in tight ringlets, with a well-worn face mismatched with her muscular frame, seems to be giving Peter a good fight. She doesn't notice Wade, though, to her fault. He waits until Peter kicks her and she stumbles back, arms behind her and braced for the ground, "alright, time for us to get nice and personal!" then swoops in and chokeholds her, pinning her arms behind her with his other hand. She lets out a stream of curses, thrashing against him, but he holds her steady easily. Peter nods, giving Wade a thumbs-up before turning to the would-be victim of whatever these bozos were planning.

"Hey, you alright?" he asks, arms placating, walking towards her. She has wide eyes and a sun-freckled face, framed with wisps of burgundy. She couldn't be any older than seventeen.

"Um, I wouldn't have been if you'd gotten here like a minute later," she answers in a rush. "Really, thank you so much, uh, Spiderman? Right? Thank God you were here, seriously, that could've gone really bad." Her small frame shrinks even more, and she turns to face Wade. "You too. I don't think I've ever seen you on the internet before, sorry. Are you his new sidekick?" she gestures to Peter.

He snorts, covering his mouth and looking to Wade, anticipating his reaction. Wade looks between them incredulously, then visibly sighs. "Are you fuckin' kidding me," at this, Peter outright _laughs_ , "no, I'm _Deadpool_. I got a lot of nicknames. Merc With a Mouth? Regeneratin' Degenerate? -- you've seriously never heard of me. Jesus. Even with the huge movie gig? And it was so good, too." He shakes his head in disbelief, then adds under his breath, "so glad they got Ryan Reynolds." The girl nods, amused (or bemused) by his spiel, and Wade throws the woman in his arms to the pavement. She grunts in pain before Peter shoots webs at her hands and ankles too. "And hey, don't get used to seeing me do shit like this," he says, referring to the baddies he helped put down. "Usually when I'm involved there's a lot more guts and explosions and blood and death. This ain't my regular thing." 

Peter crouches down beside the apprehended creeps, making both their eyes widen a fraction. "If you ever pull this again, I will know. And you will not be happy. Don't try it." He warns, voice completely level. Neither of them make a sound. So he stands up, leaving the pair squirming on the pavement. He begins addressing the girl. "What are you doing out so late? It's a school night, and Brooklyn is one of _the_ worst places to walk alone in at night."

The girl reddens, fidgeting with her necklace. "I was hungry. I just got a paycheck and dad was asleep so I decided to sneak out and get some McDonald's. It's only a block away. I only wanted a McFlurry, maybe some fries... none of this," she supplies, glancing down at the mooks and frowning. "Jerks."

"Good priorities," Wade nods in approval. "Well, we're here now. Need an escort to McDonald's?" Peter lets out a small laugh and crosses his arms. The girl brightens.

"Seriously?"

"I could go for a shake," he shrugs.

And this is how a teenager out past curfew, a questionably insane mercenary, and a man with spiderlike tendencies end up in a desolated fast food restaurant, chatting about anything and everything and nothing at all. Wade buys the three of them chocolate shakes and fries, and they sit at a booth - he and Peter on one side, the girl on the other.

Evie Fulton is a junior at Bedford Academy High School. She lives with her father, her two brothers, their pet rat. She wants to be a musical theatre major, wants to follow in her late mother's footsteps as a leading lady on Broadway. Evie goes on enthusiastically, sometimes engaging Wade (much to Peter's amusement - their conversation crescendos and there are many wild hand movements), until it seems like she's running out of steam and she yawns exaggeratedly. Wade and Peter walk her home, drop her off at her apartment, and sit together on the steps.

They sit in silence for a while, Peter gazing up at the stars and Wade gazing at Peter. How could he tell him? He couldn't tell him.

{ _Once a piece of shit_ , _always a piece of shit_.}

Peter lets his gaze fall, leveling it with Wade's. He doesn't seem at all put off that he was being stared at.

"Wade?"

"Mm."

"You're not nearly as bad as I thought you were."

He couldn't tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaa W here am I going with this


End file.
